THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 

GIFT  OF 
Helen     G.     More 


MYTHS  AND  MOTHERPLAYS 


BY 


SARA  E.  WILTSE 


AUTHOR  OF  "STORIES  FOR  KINDERGARTENS,"  "A  BRAVE  BABY,  AND  OTHER  STORIES, 
"PLACE  OF  THE  STORY  IN  EARLY  EDUCATION,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED   WITH   TWENTY-FOUR  FULL-PAGE   DRAWINGS 

BY 

HIRAM  PUTNAM  BARNES 


MILTON    BRADLEY  COMPANY 

SPRINGFIELD,  MASS. 
1895. 


COPYRIGHT,  1895, 

Bt 

MILTON  BRADLEY  COMPANY. 


PZ 


CONTENTS 


BRIDGE,  THE         ...  36 

CLOUD  MYTHS .      50-51 

FAMILY  FESTIVAL 52 

FIRE  MYTHS 46-47 

FLOWER  MYTHS -  26-27 

GARDEN,  THE 28 

HARVEST  MYTHS  .                 ....                         .  .  42-43 

BO-PEEP       .      .                   ....                 .  24 

LIGHT  BIRD  ...  12 

LITTLE  BOY  AND  THE  MOON    .                         .  16 

LITTLE  GIRL  AND  THE  STARS              .                .  40 

MOON  MYTHS     .                                                                           •  14-15 

NEST,  THE     ...  32 

PIGEON  HOUSE,  THE         .  48 

RAIN  MYTHS          ...  .  22-23 

RAIN  Bow  MYTHS             .        .  •      34-35 

STAR  MYTHS                  •  38-30 

SUN  MYTHS                       ...  .      10-11 

TICK  TACK,  THE           ....  .44 

TREE  AND  STREAM  MYTHS       ....  ....      30-31 

WEATHER  VANE,  THE          ...  .20 

WINDOW,  THE  •           56 

WIND  MYTHS                 ...  .  18-19 

WINTER  MYTHS                          54-55 


79058? 


LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


BRIDGE,  THE         .  37 

CLOUD  MYTHS    .                          ...  .50 

FAMILY  FESTIVAL                           .         .  53 

FIRE  MYTHS       .                          ...  .46 

FLOWER  MYTHS •                 26 

GARDEN,  THE 

HARVEST  MYTHS • 

BO-PEKP     • 

LIGHT  BIRD  .... 

LITTLE  BOY  AND  THE  MOON    ....  .17 

LITTLE  GIRL  AND  THE  STARS      .  .41 

MOON  MYTHS     ...  .14 

NEST,  THE     .... 

PIGEON  HOUSE,  THE  49 

RAIN  MYTHS          .        .  22 

RAIN  Bow  MYTHS                     .  •            34 

STAR  MYTHS 

SUN  MYTHS        .                         ....  .      10-11 

TICK  TACK,  THE 45 

TREE  AND  STREAM  MYTHS       .                                           .  30 

WEATHER  VANE,  THE 

WINDOW,  THE            ...  57 

WIND  MYTHS         ...                          .  18 

WINTER  MYTHS                                  54 


PREFACE. 


The  relation  between  classic  nature  myths  and  F  rebel's  Motherplays  has 
heretofore  been  almost  unnoticed.  If  any  kindergartner  exclaims,  "  I  always 
told  rainbow  stories  when  we  made  bridges ! "  or,  "  Of  course  I  told  one  or 
more  sun  myths  when  we  played  with  our  prisms ! "  then  I  shall  have  added 
assurance  of  the  pedagogical  value  of  the  work  undertaken  in  this  book. 

I  have  given  twelve  groups  of  nature  myths  suited  to  the  twelve  months 
of  the  year,  hoping  the  kindergartner  may  suggest  to  the  mother  the  desira- 
bility of  drawing  the  child's  attention  to  the  phenomena  of  nature  which  is 
particularly  noticeable  in  July  and  August  when  the  child  is  not  in  kinder- 
garten. 

To  select  myths  for  very  young  children,  eliminating  every  harmful 
element,  while  preserving  the  spirit,  and  as  far  as  possible,  the  letter  of  such 
ancient  literature,  has  been  a  grave  task.  In  many  instances  I  have  been  able 
to  give  little  but  the  great  central  thought  about  which  the  ages  have  wrapped 
masks  and  cerements  quite  unfit  for  the  child  to  handle,  for  valuable  as  our 
folk  lore  is  to  the  mature  mind,  much  of  it  I  consider  most  pernicious  for  the 
children. 

It  will  be  observed  that  I  have  carefully  told  these  stories,  as  stories,  and 
not  as  facts.  To  me  it  seems  more  rational  to  be  truthful,  and  after  many 
years  of  close  study  of  children,  and  considerable  practise  in  story  telling,  I  am 
convinced  that  imagination  is  not  cramped  nor  pure  joy  in  the  wildest  fiction 
decreased  by  the  cautious  beginning  of  tales  with  the  saving  clause — "people 
used  to  think,  or  some  people  believe." 

To  keep  to  the  golden  mean  is  very  difficult,  to  be  misunderstood  and 
misinterpreted  is  very  easy,  but  it  would  seem  as  if  these  stories  as  here 
arranged  might  be  given  by  any  teacher  who  has  the  spirit  of  the  little  child 
within  herself,  with  untold  benefit  not  only  to  the  child  of  vivid  imagination 
but  to  the  stolid  one  whose  imagination  needs  quickening. 

THE  AUTHOR. 


MYTHS  AND  MOTHERPLAYS 


NCE  upon  a  time  when  all  the  world 
was  young,  men,  women  and  chil- 
dren used  to  tell  each  other  many 
stories.  They  told  of  a  land  far  to  the 
South,  which  was  so  bright  and  hot  that 
no  one  could  enter  it  who  was  not  born 
within  its  fiery  borders.  From  a  spark 
of  this  fire-world  they  thought  the  sun 
was  made,  and  placed  in  the  sky  world 
to  light  the  earth.  As  the  sun  seemed 
to  move  across  the  sky  these  children 
of  the  young  world  thought  it  must  be 
drawn  by  horses,  and  they  could  some- 
times see  the  forms  of  these  swift  steeds 
in  the  clouds. 

A  story  once  begun  grows  like    Jack's 
bean-stalk,   and  when  one  had  seen  the 


< 


horses,  another  could  see  the  chariot, 
and  having  given  the  Sun  a  chariot 
and  horses,  some  poet  child  caught  a 
glimpse  of  a  bright  maiden  guiding 
these,  and  she  was  called  the  wife  of 
"The  Shining  One." 

In  another  country  the  children  of  long 
ago  thought  the  early  morning  light  was 
a  sweet  maiden  whom  the  Sun  loved  and 
lost.  His  journey  across  the  heavens 
was  a  daily  search  for  her,  and  out  of 
this  story  grew  one  of  the  most  beautiful 
thoughts  ever  cherished  in  men's  hearts: 
the  thought  that  the  Sun,  although  sorry 
for  his  loss,  and  never  ending  his  search, 
kept  doing  his  work  for  the  earth  from 
day  to  day  so  that  no  little  earth  flower, 
however  humble,  missed  one  ray  from 
the  generous,  life-giving  center  of  light 
and  heat. 


THE   LIGHT   BIRD. 

ET  us  look  at  the  picture  before  mamma  teaches  us 
the  song.  A  little  child  is  holding  a  mirror  in  the 
sunshine,  and  the  light  is  thrown  on  the  wall  under 
the  window ;  when  the  mirror  is  moved  the  light 
seems  to  flit  about  like  a  bird,  and  the  baby  tries 
to  catch  it.  You  can  do  this  with  a  basin  of  water, 
or  with  a  prism,  which  will  give  you  a  light  bird 
with  all  the  colors  of  the  rainbow.  But  you  can 
never  catch  and  hold  this  bird  in  your  hand,  or  hide 
it  in  your  pocket. 

One  child  is  holding  a  ball  for  the  kitten  to  play  with  : 
The  kitten  is  pleased  when  the  ball  is  lifted  above  her  reach  and 
will  leap  for  it  and  run  after  it  as  long  as  the  child  can  play. 
These  children  are  very  happy,  and  it  is  a  good  and  sure  way  they  are 
taking  to  be  happy ;  one  in  amusing  the  baby  and  the  other  full  of  joy  in 
amusing  the  kitten. 

If  there  is  the  sunshine  of  love  in  our  hearts  we  will  never  spend  a 
day  without  giving  pleasure  or  comfort  to  somebody  or  some  thing,  and 
children  are  quite  able  to  add  more  to  the  happiness  of  this  happy  world 
than  is  possible  for  any  grown  person,  no  matter  how  rich  or  powerful  the 
grown  person  may  be. 

The  little  boy  on  the  ladder  is  trying  to  catch  a  real  bird,  but  it  has 
flown.  He  could  not  get  the  bird's  song  to  hold  in  his  hand,  even  if  he 
caught  the  bird.  Look  at  the  mother  in  the  picture.  She  is  surely  a 
very  loving  mother,  and  her  children  see  that ;  but  the  love  is  like  the 
light  bird,  and  can  give  them  happiness  even  when  the  day  is  cloudy,  and 
the  loving  mother  away  from  home.  For  love  stays  in  our  hearts,  and 
grows  brighter  and  brighter  the  more  we  do  for  each  other. 


THK   MCillT   JJIKO. 


GREEK  children  used  to  tell  this  pretty 
story  about  the  moon  : 

A  moon  maiden  loved  a  shepherd  lad, 
and  often  went  to  see  him  when  he  was 
tending  his  flocks.  But  he  was  taken  away 
from  the  sky  world  one  day,  and  she  could 
not  find  him. 

Being  a  brave,  true-hearted  maiden 
she  lost  no  time  in  crying,  but  said :  ' '  Here  are 
his  sheep  and  lambs  left  without  care.  I  will 
watch  them,  feed  them,  and  give  them  water  from 
the  fountain  until  he  comes."  So  to  this  day  she 
is  sometimes  called  the  shepherdess. 

Hindoo  children  used  to  hear  a  moon  story, 
quite  as  pretty. 

One  of  their  gods  was  said  to  have  come  to 
earth  in  the  form  of  a  poor  man.  While  walking 
one  day  he  lost  the  path  and  became  very  tired 
and  hungry. 

At  last  he  met  a  little  rabbit,  and  asked  food 
of  him.  The  rabbit  said,  "  I  eat  only  grass,  which 
is  not  fit  for  you." 

"  I  am  very  hungry,"  said  the  man  ;  "  but  I 
cannot  eat  grass." 


I 


MOON  MYTHS.  15 

The  rabbit  was  sorry  for  the  hungry  man,  and  said,   "I  am  only  a 
little  rabbit ;   but  you  may  eat  me." 

Then  the  man  took  the  rabbit  in  his  arms,  and  caressed  him,  saying  : 
"  Little  friend,  you  offered  yourself  to  a  god ;  great  shall  be  your  reward." 

And  holding  the  happy  little  animal  on  one  arm,  he  drew  a  picture  of 
a  rabbit  upon  the  moon,  and  restoring  the  creature  to  earth,  said  : 

"  There  is  your  picture  in  sight  of  all  men  for  all  time,  and  you  shall 
be  remembered  forever  as  an  unselfish  rabbit." 

Some  children  think  they  see  the  picture  of  a  rabbit  in  the  moon 
whenever  they  look  for  it. 

In  Africa  when  the  new  moon  is  expected,  whole  tribes  of  people 
hurry  out  to  look  for  the  first  gleam  of  the  silver  crescent,  and  when  it 
shines  forth,  every  man,  woman  and  child  shouts  the  word  Kua ! 

But  the  most  fascinating  moon  story  is  found  in  Egypt.  It  was 
believed  there  that  the  moon-god,  Thoth,  once  wrote  a  book.  The  book 
was  filled  with  stories  of  everything  on  earth,  in  the  sea  and  even  in  the 
iiir.  Not  a  beast,  bird,  or  fish  but  had  a  true  story  about  it,  which  if 
read  by  any  man,  would  enable  him  to  charm  the  world.  Thoth,  how- 
ever, did  not  publish  his  stories,  nor  even  tell  them  to  his  wife,  or  prom- 
ise to  tell  them  to  his  children ;  but  he  put  them  in  a  box  of  gold,  locked 
the  gold  box  in  a  casket  of  silver,  shut  the  silver  casket  in  ebony  and 
ivory,  sealed  the  ebony  and  ivory  within  a  case  of  bronze,  hid  the  case  of 
bronze  in  a  chest  of  brass,  concealed  the  chest  of  brass  in  a  little  iron  safe, 
which  was  no  doubt  a  self  locker,  and  threw  the  whole  into  the  river  Nile, 
from  which  no  man  has  ever  taken  it,  because  no  man  can  find  it.  But 
do  not  cry  over  the  lost  stories,  my  dear  children,  for  if  the  legend  of 
them  were  true,  and  you  could  get  the  very  book  from  the  golden  box, 
I  doubt  if  you  would  find  the  stories  of  the  Moon-god  Thoth  quite  as 
"•OIK!  as  those  you  tell  each  other  ;  because  nothing  that  has  power  to 
charm  the  world  and  do  good  can  be  crushed  into  an  iron  safe  and  entirely 
covered  for  centuries  under  the  waters  of  any  river. 

80  Thoth  only  hid  a  little  parchment  and  metal  after  all,  for  the 
story  of  stories  is  still  open  to  the  eyes  and  hearts  of  children  who  keep 
the  kev  oi'all  mvsteries  —  ask  mamma  if  it  is  not  so. 


THE  LITTLE  BOY   AND   THE   MOON. 

THIS  little  boy  has  been  looking  at  the  moon,  and  what  do  you  think 
he  is  begging  his  mamma  to  do  ? 

He  thinks  if  he  climbs  the  ladder  he  will  be  able  to  reach  the  beautiful 
shining  ball  and  hold  it  in  his  hand. 

You  can  see  the  castle  which  is  higher  than  the  ladder,  and  the  moon 
higher  than  all. 

Babies  often  reach  for  the  moon  with  their  little  hands.  I  knew  a 
baby  who  soon  learned  he  could  not  grasp  it  even  when  his  papa  held  him 
high  as  he  could  reach ;  but  this  baby  had  played  with  the  light  bird,  and 
was  happy  in  seeing  many  things  which  he  could  not  touch,  and  so  he 
laughed  and  kissed  his  little  hands  to  the  moon,  just  as  he  did  to  his 
mamma  when  she  was  leaving  him. 

There  are  so  many  poems  about  the  moon  that  each  child  might  have 
mic  to  recite  ;  but  there  is  a  single  line  written  long  ago  by  a  man  who 
must  have  had  a  child's  heart.  We  learn  that  :  — 

"  The  moon  looks  on  many  night  flowers,  the  night  flowers  see  but  one  moon." 

Or  this,  which  is  older  yet  :— 

"  Late,  late  yestere'en  I  saw  the  new  moone 
Wi'  the  ankle  moon  in  her  arms." 

The  children's  own  poet,  Wordsworth,  tells  how1  he  looked  at  the  new' 
moon  when  he  was  a  child,  and  thought  it  was  a  silver  boat  in  the  sky's 
boundless  sea  of  blue  ;  sometimes  he  thought  it  was  a  crown  of  pearls, 
and  then  again  he  imagined  it  was  a  lovely  woman  wrapped  in  a  veil  of 
fleecy  clouds. 

Surely  some  children  can  understand  that  our  thoughts  go  up  and  down 
an  unseen  ladder  of  love,  so  that  nothing  beautiful  in  all  this  beautiful 
world  is  quite  out  of  reach,  if  we  will  be  unselfish  in  our  thought?  as  well 
as  in  our  acts. 


TIIK    UTTLK   HOY    AM)    THK   MOOX. 


IF  you  will  put  your  ear  against  a  telegraph  or 
telephone  pole  when  the  wind  is  blowing  you  will 
hear  what  the  children  of  the  Old  World  thought 
was  the  music  of  the  wind  gods.  You  can  hear  it 
among  the  pine-trees  and  the  dry  leaves  of  the 
oaks  in  winter.  A  bit  of  wire  stretched  firmly 
across  one  of  your  windows  will  make  a  harp  for 
^Eolus. 

When  the  Old  World  children  heard  the  whisper- 
ing winds  in  the  reeds  or  among  the  trees  they 
thought  a  god  was  there,  and  they  told  each  other 
these  stories  about  him  : 

A  child  was  born  in  a  cave,  and  in  three  hours 
he  had  grown  to  be  a  man.  Going  out  into  the 
world  he  made  a  lyre  from  a  tortoise  shell  from 


v 

I 


WIND   MYTHS.  19 

which  he  drew  such  music  that  the  flowers  swayed  back  and  forth 
in  a  mystic  dance  in  which  all  the  birds  and  beasts  joined.  Then  the 
very  stones  heard  and  leaped  from  the  earth  in  a  merry  round,  and  as 
the  musician's  heart  grew  more  and  more  joyous  in  giving  joy  to  others 
his  powers  increased  until  he  called  the  very  dead  from  their  resting 
places. 

Then  wonder  of  wonders  !  his  music  reached  the  hearts  of  people  who 
were  doing  wrong,  and  they  dropped  their  evil  ways  and  joined  the  happy 
throng  of  singers. 

I  will  not  try  to  tell  you  all  the  names  this  god  was  given,  for  in  each 
country  he  was  called  by  a  different  one,  and  his  history  differs  in  various 
languages.;  but  if  you  remember  that  sound  is  the  one  name  upon  his  fore- 
head, then  you  will  be  able  to  know  him  whether  he  carries  a  reed  pipe 
or  a  tortoise  lyre. 

But  the  winds  are  not  always  gentle,  and  the  hurricane  must  also -take 
on  a  visible  form  ;  so  we  have  stories  of  the  grinders  and  crushers  who  are 
clothed  in  rain.  In  their  hands  are  fiery  daggers,  and  you  may  hear  their 
whips  as  they  go  upon  their  way  ;  they  roar  like  lions  and  the  mountains 
shake  beneath  their  tread. 

Of  them  an  ancient  poet  wrote:  "  On  what  errand  are  you  going, 
O  winds  ?  Lances  gleam  upon  your  shoulders,  anklets  on  your  feet,  and 
golden  cuirasses  on  your  breasts ;  lightnings  blazing  with  fire  glow  in 
your  hands,  and  golden  tiaras  are  towering  on  your  heads." 

Even  the  modern  poets  speak  of  the  winds  as  if  they  were  like  our- 
selves, having  hands  and  feet.  Mrs.  Deland,  who  writes  so  beautifully 
of  the  flowers  and  seasons,  says- 

Tlie  morning  winds  on  unseen  feet 
Over  the  hilltops  lightly  pass. 


THE  WEATHER-VANE. 

IF  you  have  some  feathery  seeds  from  the  milk- weed,  or  a  downy 
feather,  or  even  some  shreds  of  tissue  paper,  place  one  of  them  in  the  palm 
of  your  hand,  and  you  can  blow  it  away  with  your  lightest  breath.  Or 
you  can  blow  upon  a  pin-wheel  as  the  wind  blows  upon  the  windmill. 

See  the  weather-vane  on  the  church  steeple  in  the  picture  ;  perhaps 
you  can  see  a  real  weather-vane  when  you  go  to  walk,  but  you  might  blow 
with  all  your  might  and  you  could  not  turn  it  as  you  move  the  feather  in 
your  hand. 

Look  at  the  flag  in  the  picture,  the  kite  and  the  tree  bending  over ; 
then  look  out-of-doors  at  the  real  things  moved  by  the  wind.  You  can 
play  your  hand  is  a  weather-vane,  and  you  can  turn  it  back  and  forth. 
What  wonderful  thing  is  this  you  are  doing? 

Turning  your  little  hand  like  a  weather-vane  without  blowing  upon  it  ? 
And  now  you  turn  your  hands  round  and  round  very  swiftly  like  a  water- 
wheel,  but  neither  wind  nor  water  is  moving  them  ! 

What  does  move  them  ?  And  you  can  turn  your  head,  and  swing  your 
arms  !  Some  wonderful  power  must  be  about !  With  this  power  in  you, 
you  might  hold  your  hand  out  in  a  very  strong  wind,  and  say : 

"You  are  very  strong,  Mr.  Wind,  but  you  cannot  turn  my  hand  on 
the  joints  of  my  wrist  as  I  can  do  it.  See  !  it  moves  only  when  /  will. 
You  are  very  great  and  powerful,  and  you  can  do  many  things  with  trees 
which  I  am  not  strong  enough  to  do,  but  at  the  same  time,  little  as  I  am, 
I  can  make  more  wonderful  movements  than  you,  for  I  do  greater  things 
than  to  move  my  hands  to  and  fro  :  I  think  before  I  do,  and  nearly  every- 
thing I  do  is  done  because  I  love  my  mamma,  and  sometime  I  will  under- 
stand just  what  she  means  when  she  sings  :  — 

"  Whichever  way  the  wind  dotli  blow, 
Some  heart  is  glad  to  have  it  so; 
Then  blow  it  east,  or  blow  it  west, 
The  wind  that  blows,  that  wind  is  best." 


"OTHER    THINGS    THAT    TIIK    WIXD    DOES.' 


THE  children  of  the  Old  World  told  each  other 
quaint  stories  about  the  rain. 

Sometimes  there  were  long,  dry  seasons  when 
the  earth  became  parched,  fruits  withered  and  flow- 
ers drooped  in  the  long  grass. 

But  these  poet-children  forgot  their  own  needs 
in  thinking  about  the  rain  sister,  who  was  stolen 
from  earth  and  locked  in  a  black  cloud  or  cave  in  the 
upper  air.  They  knew  a  god  or  a  giant  would  set 
her  free,  and  when  a  flash  of  lightning  blinded  their 
eyes,  they  laughed  and  were  glad,  for  they  thought 
it  the  lance  of  Indra,  who  was  coming  to  free  the 
rain  sister. 

Other  children  thought  that  Zeus  sometimes  went 
about  the  sky  like  a  white  swan,  and  when  many 
little  snowy  clouds  floated  about,  they  called  them 
the  swan  sisters,  but  Zeus,  the  brother,  could  change 
himself  from  a  swan  to  a  golden  shower. 

There  is  a  pretty  story  of  the  rainy  sisters  having 
been  changed  into  doves,  and  placed  in  the  sky. 


RAIN  MYTHS.  23 

We  shall  hear  more  of  these  sisters  when  we  study  the  star  myths, 
for  we  shall  see  that  the  sun,  moon,  stars,  rain,  clouds  and  all  we  love  to- 
day in  nature  was  thought  to  belong  to  one  family,  and  we  may  well  wish 
that  >ve,  like  the  Aryans,  Hindus  and  Greeks,  might  be  so  childlike  in 
heart  as  to  call  the  stars  and  clouds  our  brothers  and  sisters. 

April  —  the  opener  of  earth  and  cloud  —  is  our  little  rain  sister,  and 
we  all  know  the  old  rhyme  about  her : 

"  April  showers 
Bring  Mayflowers." 

Some  of  the  very  oldest  stories  about  the  rain  clouds  are  the  loveliest. 
The  children  of  the  old,  old  world,  looking  at  the  dark  clouds  scudding 
overhead,  and  hearing  the  low  rumble  of  thunder,  thought  some  giant 
was  driving  the  cattle  into  a  cave. 

We  have  seen  how  quickly  a  story  grows  from  a  single  pretty  thought, 
and  we  can  understand  how  natural  it  would  be  to  make  long  stories  about 
these  cows  — you  can  make  a  whole  book  of  them  yourselves,  and  you  will 
no  doubt  explain  the  rain-fall  just  as  they  did,  by  saying  the  cloud  cows 
are  being  milked,  and  many  a  thirsty  flower  on  earth-  gets  a  refreshing  drink 
of  milk  when  the  giant's  pail  overflows. 

There  was  another  thought  about  the  rain  clouds  which  is  very  beauti- 
ful. Some  poet-child,  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  bright  sun,  as  the  clouds 
parted  for  a  moment,  called  it  a  golden  egg,  and  thought  the  dark  storm- 
cloud  was  a  wonderful  bird,  hovering  over  her  beautiful  egg  of  pure  gold. 

You  have  in  these  old  thoughts  enough  material  for  stories  of  your  own 
to  make  you  and  all  your  playmates  happy  during  many  a  rainy  day,  and 
your  own  pretty  variations  of  the  story  of  the  rainy  sisters,  of  Zeus,  and  his 
reason  for  changing  from  a  swan  to  a  golden  shower,  of  the  cattle  that  bel- 
low in  the  cloud  caves,  of  the  golden  egg  hidden  under  dusky  wings,  and  some 
new  thought  entirely  your  own  may  serve  as  good  purpose  as  these  old 
stories  have  served. 


BO-PEEP. 

THERE  are  so  many  charming  ways  of  playing  bo-peep  and  hide-and- 
seek,  that  one  hardly  need  tell  the  children  about  them. 

Perhaps  the  little  child  hiding  behind  the  shrubbery  does  not  know  that 
grown  people  dearly  love  to  play  this  game. 

The  baby  that  hides  its  face  behind  a  handkerchief,  or  pulls  its 
mother's  cloak  about  it,  and  laughs  with  delight  in  the  game,  before  it 
has  learned  to  say  "peep,"  will  enjoy  hiding  behind  a  door  when  it  is 
old  enough  to  walk. 

The  child  that  creeps  under  the  sofa,  or  crouches  behind  a  chair,  and 
calls,  "Now  find  me,  mamma,"  will  carry  the  same  spirit  of  fun  and  love 
of  hiding  into  youth  and  even  manhood. 

Sometimes  when  tall  boys  come  home  from  school  they  will  go  into  a 
room  softly,  and  sit  behind  a  screen,  or  in  a  corner,  and  remain  unseen 
until  mother  or  sister  says  :  "  It  is  quite  time  that  boy  should  be  home, 
is  it  not?  "  and  then  he  laughs  gleefully,  and  says,  "  I  am  here." 

Once  upon  a  time  a  woman  —  quite  an  old  woman  too,  —  had  an 
unexpected  visitor,  and  when  she  saw  her  husband  coming  to  dinner  she 
said  to  her  guest:  "Now,  hide  in  the  closet,  and  I  will  send  him  there 
to  get  his  slippers,  and  he  will  be  surprised  to  find  you  there." 

The  guest,  who  was  so  old  that  she  had  gray  hairs,  squeezed  herself 
into  the  closet,  and  when  the  white-haired  man  came  in,  his  wife  said  : 
"  Dinner  is  about  ready  ;  but  you  must  be  tired  ;  get  your  slippers  from 
the  closet,  and  make  yourself  comfortable." 

But  the  man  said  :  "  Thank  you,  I  do  not  care  to  put  on  my  slippers 
now."  After  a  moment  she  said  :  "  Will  you  please  hand  me  my  white 
shawl  from  the  closet  before  we  go  to  dinner."  That  made  the  man  laugh, 
for  she  already  had  the  shawl  on.  And  the  visitor  in  the  closet  laughed, 
too,  and  the  man,  hearing  someone  laugh  in  the  closet,  of  course  found  the 
hidden  visitor. 

All  this  made  them  very  joyous,  and  at  dinner  they  asked  the  chil- 
dren if  they  had  found  any  new  ways  of  playing  the  dear  old  games. 


i  rf 

$Ml& 


\ 


AM)    I.. M'CillS    \\IIII    DKI.KillT    IN    TIIK    (JA.Mi:. 


NORSE  children 
used  to  believe  that 
the  flowers  grew  only 
when  Freya  walked, 
and  that  if  the  earth 
were  frozen  and  without  a 
blade  of  grass  it  would  become 
warm  and  flowery  if  she  came 
down  for  a  journey  across  the  world. 
Our  Maiden-hair  fern  is  still  called 
Freya's  hair  in  Iceland,  and  no  doubt 
some  child  there  has  a  pretty  belief  of 
its  own  about  these  lovely  tresses  which 
others  call  Our  Lady's  Hair,  in  memory 
of  Mary,  the  mother  of  Jesus. 

The  Greeks  held  sacred  all  flowers 
that  grew  in  hidden  nooks  in  the  depths 
of  the  forests,  believing  •  they  were 
there  for  the  goddess  Diana.  The 
ancient  Norsemen  believed  the  gods 
brought  the  flowers,  while  the  Hindus 
thought  the  flowers  brought  the  gods. 


FLOWER  MYTHS.  27 

We  have  learned  how  the  Norse  people  believed  the  touch  of  Freya's 
foot  upon  the  earth  would  cause  the  flowers  to  spring  into  life.  The 
Hindus  believed  that  from  the  lotus  flower  came  their  god  Brahma,  and  in 
Egypt  this  flower  was  held  sacred  more  than  four  thousand  years  ago. 

The  lily-of-the-valley  is  sometimes  called  May-lily.  In  New  England 
we  call  the  trailing  arbutus  May-flower,  but  in  some  parts  of  England  the 
lilac  is  called  May-flower. 

There  are  many  games  and  rhymes  with  and  about  flowers  that  bdong 
especially  to  children. 

The  dandelion  which  is  just  beginning  to  blossom  is  known  to  many  of 
them  as  the  "  blow  ball,"  because  they  like  to  blow  the  feathery  seeds 
from  the  stalk  to  learn  the  time  of  day,  saying  : 

"  One  o'clock,  two  o'clock;  it's  time  we  were  away." 

It  has  also  been  called  the  peasant's  clock,  its  flowers  opening  very 
early  in  the  morning.  The  hollow  stem  is  often  split  and  rolled  with  the 
tongue,  making  long,  fair  curls  or  ear  rings. 

The  flowers  need  the  sunshine,  and  some  of  them  turn  on  their  stems 
so  that  they  face  the  sun  all  day.  The  children  of  the  Old  World  soon 
learned  this,  and  it  is  not  strange  that  they  thought  the  flowers  loved  the 
sun  as  the  child  loves  its  mother. 

Many  flowers  close  their  petals  when  the  sun  goes  down  at  night,  and 
this  gave  rise  to  a  number  of  pretty  stories. 

Flowers  and  fairies  must  belong  to  each  other,  and  it  is  no  wonder  that 
people  still  think  of  dancing  elves  when  they  see  the  little  rings  of  greener 
grass  in  a  meadow  of  emerald  hue. 

Some  country  people  used  to  believe  that  if  they  stepped  upon  a  certain 
flower  after  sunset,  a  fairy  horse  would  appear  and  carry  them  about  all 
night. 

Our  marsh-marigold,  which  we  call  the  cowslip,  is  known  to  some 
children  as  the  fairy  cup,  and  German  children  call  it  the  key  flower,  and 
have  a  pretty  fairy  story  about  it. 

We  have  our  own  quaint  fancies  about  certain  leaves  and  flowers  which 
will  sometime  become  ancient  flower  lore. 


THE   GARDENER. 

PERHAPS  the  first  thing  you  will  notice  in  this  picture  is  the  little  girl 
watering  flowers,  but  the  clock  in  the  tower  has  told  her  it  is  the  right 
time  to  do  this,  for 

"  Watering  in  the  sun's  hot  glow 
Never  makes  the  flowers  grow ;  " 

and  we  must  all  learn  that  there  is  a  right  time  for  every  kind  act. 
Even  the  sun  goes  behind  the  clouds  when  the  rain  is  falling  on  the  flowers 
and  waits  his  turn  in  taking  care  of  them.  But  when  we  first  sow  our 
flower  seeds  it  is  very  hard  to  leave  them  alone,  we  are  so  anxious  to  help 
them  grow ;  but  while  we  let  the  earth  and  the  sun  and  rain  do  their 
share  we  can  play  garden  by  making  a  lily  bud  with  the  fingers  of  ours 
left  hand,  and  a  watering  pot  with  our  right  hand,  making  believe  the 
thumb  is  a  spout  from  which  the  water  falls  upon  the  lily.  The  little 
boy  in  the  picture  has  gathered  some  of  his  flowers  to  give  to  the  old 
man  who  is  passing. 

Perhaps  the  man  thinks  of  an  old  verse  : 

"  There  is  a  garden  in  the  fall 
Where  roses  and  white  lilies  grow." 

.Suppose  a  child  lives  in  a  city  where  he  cannot  have  a  garden  or  even 
a  pot  of  flowers,  what  can  he  give  to  make  people's  hearts  glad?  Home- 
thing  which  may  blossom  in  the  coldest  air;  frost  cannot  put  it  to  sleep, 
nor  rain  drown  it.  Something  grown  people  would  not  like  to  be  without 
even  if  offered  acres  of  roses  in  its  place.  None  but  children  can  give 
the  very  sweetest  of  these  gifts,  so  they  should  be  generous  with  them. 
What  is  it  ? 

A  child's  joyous  smile  and  pleasant  voice. 

Care  for  your  own  heart  garden  "where  these  grow"  and  we  shall 
have  the  best  of  flowers  all  the  year. 

Here  is  a  pretty  verse  known  to  most  kindergarten  children : 

"  Kind  hearts  are  the  gardens, 
Kind  thoughts  are  the  seeds, 
Kind  words  are  the  blossoms, 
And  the  fruits  are  kind  deeds." 


"  WATEKING   IN  THE   SUN'S   HOT   GLOW 
NEVKR    M.VKKS   THK    FLOWERS   GROW." 


LONG  ago  when  men  and  women 
had  only  the  knowledge  of  little  chil- 
dren, they  were  fond  of  asking  ques- 
tions. There  were  always  a  few  poets 
and  story-tellers  in  every  country  who 
were  ready  with  answers  to  all  that 
could  be  asked.  We  know  they  some- 
times made  mistakes,  but  their  mis- 
takes were  so  beautiful  it  is  no  wonder 
they  were  believed  to  be  true.  The 
Norsemen  thought  the  earth  itself 
was  a  great  ash-tree  of  which  our 
oaks  and  elms  were  but  little  twigs. 
Other  people  of  olden  times  watched 
the  trees  bending  in  the  wind  and 
thought  gods  were  hidden  within  their 
trunks.  The  Greeks  have  a  pretty 
story  of  Apollo  and  Daphne  which 
explains  the  sacredness  of  the  laurel- 
tree  and  the  wreath  of  laurel  which 
Apollo  wears. 


THEE  AND  S  THE  AM  MYTHS.  31 

Daphne  was  a  beautiful  nymph,  daughter  of  a  river  god.  Apollo 
saw  her,  ami  wished  to  take  her  to  his  home.  But  Daphne  wanted 
to  stay  near  the  stream  where  her  father  lived,  and  in  the  woods  where 
Diana  hunted,  so  she  ran  from  Apollo,  who  pursued  her.  She  would  not 
stop  to  hear  him  say  he  was  a  god,  but  ran  until  her  strength  was  ex- 
hausted, when  she  called  upon  her  father  to  save  her  ;  and  just  as  Apollo 
was  about  to  overtake  her,  she  was  changed  into  a  laurel- tree,  and 
the  god  of  music  kissed  the  tree  and  said  :  "  Thou  shalt  be  my  tree.  I 
will  wear  thee  for  my  crown,  and  with  thee  will  adorn  my  harp.  Thou 
shalt  be  woven  into  wreaths  for  the  brows  of  conquerors,  and  thy  leaf  shall 
know  no  decay." 

People  used  to  think  that  the  great  Jupiter  spoke  to  them  in  the 
rustling  of  the  oak  leaves.  Our  own  beautiful  birch-trees  were  called  the 
white  ladies  of  the  forest  by  the  poet  Longfellow.  Many  children  of 
to-day  listen  for  the  song  of  the  leaves,  and  ask  again  and  again  what  do 
they  say  ?  And  when  the  branches  sway  in  the  breeze  they  ask  what 
are  they  doing  ?  A  little  boy  not  yet  old  enough  to  read  these  stories 
took  his  first  steps  in  the  spring,  and  would  not  pass  a  tree  in  his  walks 
without  putting  his  arms  around  it ;  this  winter  every  tree  he  passed 
received  a  snow  kiss.  If  a  grown  poet  had  walked  with  this  little  child 
and  been  permitted  to  read  his  thoughts,  we  might  have  a  song  sweeter 
than  any  yet  sung,  for  trees  and  flowers  and  children  are  just  as  wonderful 
as  of  old.  There  are  trees  that  are  still  thought  to  be  made  of  lightning, 
and  some  Scotch  milkmaids  wear  little  charms  made  of  the  wood  of  the 
mountain  ash,  thinking  it  protects  them  from  lightning. 

There  is  an  old  Hindu  tree  myth  whiclj  explains  this  practice.  A  falcon 
offered  to  restore  the  stolen  Soma  to  the  gods.  In  doing  it  he  lost  a  claw 
and  a  feather.  Both  fell  to  earth,  and  taking  root  grew  into  trees,  one  of 
the  trees  having  red  sap  and  scarlet  blossoms.  Because  the  falcon  was 
himself  a  lightning  god,  his  feather  and  claw  grew  to  be  sacred  lightning 
trees.  The  red  berries  of  the  mountain  ash,  being  somewhat  like  the  red 
flowers  of  the  "  palasa-tree,"  it  was  easy  for  childlike  people  to  believe  it 
also  sacred.  The  robin  also  became  sacred  ;  red  lightning,  red  berries 
and  red  birds  being  in  some  way  related  to  Thor,  the  god  of  thunder. 


THE  NEST. 

WHAT  do  you  see  in  the  branches  of  the  tree  nearest  the  house  ? 

Shall  I  tell  you  about  a  nest  like  that  which  I  once  saw  in  an  apple- 
tree?  A  pair  of  robins  built  the  nest,  and  one  of  them  used  to  sit  in  the 
very  highest  branch  of  the  tree  at  sunrise  and  sunset  and  sing  so  sweetly 
that  every  one  about  was  glad  there  was  a  nest  in  the  tree,  for  we  thought 
he  was  singing  to  please  the  little  mother  bird  who  when  her  eggs  were 
laid  would  hardly  leave  them  long  enough  to  rest  her  wings.  After  much 
singing  and  many  days  of  sitting  on  the  nest  there  were  more  listeners  to- 
the  papa  bird's  song  than  you  can  guess. 

There  were  four  little  baby  birds,  that  must  have  listened  well,  for  they 
grew  up  to  be  good  singers,  too.  But  there  were  other  listeners  to  the 
happy  song.  A  hen  who  could  not  sing,  but  who  loved  her  chickens 
dearly  brought  ten  of  them  to  live  under  the  apple-tree,  and  there  was 
another  not  in  this  picture,  but  in  the  house,  who  listened  every  day  for 
the  song  of  the  bird,  the  twitter  of  the  baby  birds,  the  cluck  of  the  mother 
hen,  and  peep-peep  of  the  chickens.  Who  could  it  be?  It  was  a  little 
child  whose  mamma  told  him  all  about  the  care  every  mamma  in  the 
world  takes  of  her  babies. 

She  showed  the  child  how  to  make  a  little  bird's  nest  with  his  fingers, 
putting  the  thumbs  down  in  the  nest  for  eggs,  and  letting  them  fly  out  as 
birds.  She  sang  him  many  songs  about  birds,  and  he  himself  found  the 
blue-bird's  nest  in  the  hole  in  the  tree,  and  showed  his  mamma  a  little 
nest  like  it,  made  with  his  left  hand,  while  his  right  played  it  was  a 
number  of  birds,  the  thumb  was  a  robin,  the  first  finger  a  blue-bird,  the 
middle  an  oriole,  the  ring  finger  a  swallow  and  the  little  finger  a  sparrow. 
In  the  picture  you  can  find  a  nest  for  each.  You  will  be  pleased  with  the 
robin's  nest  story,  for  the  same  papa  and  mamma  robin  came  year  after 
year  to  the  same  nest  and  found  the  same  child  in  the  house  to  give  them 
crumbs  and  listen  to  their  song.  One  bird  built  its  nest  on  the  ground, 
but  it  had  no  cause  to  fear  the  kind  children  who  found  it. 


"  IN  THE  GRASS,   JTJ8T  WHERE  IT'S  BEST, 
LITTLE   BIND   HAS   Bt'ir.T   ITS   XEST." 


RA1NBQW 


IF  you  will  look  at  a  rainbow  from 
the  time  it  appears  until  it  fades  from 
sight,  thinking  of  the  sky,  the  clouds  and 
the  glorious  arch,  perhaps  you  will  feel  a 
little  as  the  Norsemen  did  when  they  first 
called  it  Bifrost  or  trembling  bridge,  and 
believed  that  the  gods  came  over  it  from 
Heaven  to  earth.  They  thought  the 
bridge  was  guarded  by  Heimdall  who  had 
a  palace  at  the  highest  part.  Our  own 
poet,  Longfellow,  could  think  their 
thoughts,  for  he  wrote  : 

"  Bifrost  i'  th'  east  shone  forth  in  brightest  green; 
On  its  top  in  snow  white  sheen 
llcimdall  at  his  post  was  seen." 

Sometimes  they  thought  the  rainbow 
was  itself  the  beautiful  god,  who  needed 
less  sleep  than  a  bird ;  who  could  see  as 


RAINBOW  MYTHS.  35 

well  by  night  as  by  day-,  and  could  hear  the  corn  growing  on  the  earth, 
and  the  soft  wool  lengenthing  on  the  sheep's  back. 

The  Persians  thought  the  rainbow  bridge  was  guarded  by  a  maiden 
that  when  asked  who  she  was,  always  answered  : 

"  I  am  thy  good  thoughts,  good  words,  good  deeds." 

The  Hebrews  believed  it  a  sign  that  God  thought  of  them  and  all  that 
had  happened  to  them  in  their  troubled  lives,  especially  of  a  promise  made 
by  Him  to  them.  So  we  see  how  the  thoughts  of  men  grew  sweeter  as 
they  looked  at  this  glorious  arch.  First  it  was  a  bridge  for  the  gods,  then 
the  gods  themselves,  and  to  many  it  now  seems  a  present  thought  of  God. 

We  will  learn  to  think  these  thoughts  about  it,  and  perhaps  we  shall 
then  understand  about  the  pot  of  gold  of  which  all  children  hear  nowadays. 

This  dear  story  will  not  be  spoiled  for  us  if  we  learn  to  look  within  our 
own  hearts  for  our  end  of  the  rainbow  —  our  own  hearts  which  are  the  real 
golden  pots,  holding  good  thoughts  which  are  like  trembling  bridges  ;  from 
which  come  good  words  like  winged  gods,  and  out  of  which  issue  good 
deeds  that  are  binding  promises  of  still  better  things. 

The  children's  own  poet  loved  the  rainbow,  and  wrote  : 

"  My  heart  leaps  up  when  I  behold 

A  rainbow  in  the  sky  : 
So  was  it  when  my  life  began ; 

So  is  it  now  I  am  a  man." 


THE   BRIDGE. 


DID  you  ever  walk  beside  a  pretty  stream  with  ferns  and  flowers  upon 
its  bank  ?  Did  you  ever  wish  to  cross  the  stream  and  find  it  too  deep  to 
wade  and  the  stones  too  far  apart  for  you  to  jump  from  one  to  the  other  ? 
Did  your  papa  or  some  strong  man  throw  a  board  across  and  then  lead  you 
to  the  beautiful  things  on  the  other  side  ? 

Perhaps  that  is  what  the  man  in  the  picture  is  going  to  do  with  the 
boards  he  has  on  his  shoulder.  Find  all  the  bridges  you  can  in  the  picture. 
There  is  one  just  strong  enough  for  an  ant  to  cross  ;  there  is  another  for 
men,  and  one  which  a  squirrel  might  use.  You  can  make  a  bridge  with 
your  hands  like  the  one  in  the  upper  part  of  the  picture,  but  do  not  forget 
to  use  your  thumbs  for  the  support  of  the  bridge. 

The  lily  leaf  has  roots  underneath,  and  the  branch  which  the  squir- 
rel runs  over  is  held  by  the  trunk  of  the  tree.  Can  you  think  of  any 
other  bridges  that  join  things  which  would  be  separated  but  for  them  ? 
Did  you  not  get  a  letter  from  papa  when  he  was  away  from  home  ?  Was 
not  that  a  little  bridge  that  brought  his  thoughts  to  you? 

When  you  have  been  rude  or  unkind  to  any  one  did  you  not  feel  far 
away  and  unhappy  ?  and  were  you  not  glad  when  kind  words  and  loving 
smiles  made  a  bridge  by  which  you  could  return  to  happiness  ? 

If  you  watch  for  the  opportunity  you  can  be  a  little  bridge-builder 
every  day,  for  you  have  in  your  heart  that  which  must  support  every 
bridge. 

You  surely  know  what  made  the  man  carry  the  boards  for  the  children ; 
what  made  your  papa  write  the  letter  ?  what  made  your  mamma  speak 
gently  when  you  were  cross  ? 

Was  it  not  love  ? 

And  does  not  love  unite  all  parts  of  the  earth  as  the  bridge  unites  the 
opposite  banks  of  the  stream  ? 

Was  it  not  love  in  men's  hearts  that  made  them  see  in  the  rainbow  a 
bridge  which  joined  earth  to  Heaven  ? 


HOW   MANY  BRIDGES  DO   YOU  FIND   IN   THK  WCl'UKK  '( 


IF  you  look  at  the  sky  any  clear  night  this 
month  you  may  see  a  path  of  light  nearly  overhead,  stretch- 
ing from  the  northern  to  the  southern  horizon.  This  is  called 
the  Milky  Way,  and  in  the  old,  old  times  children  were  told  that  it 
was  milk  spilled  by  a  baby  god.  It  sometimes  happens  that  there  is 
a  starless  night,  and  as  these  children  of  the  ancient  times  believed 
nothing  was  really  lost,  they  had  a  story  about  the  stars  all  leaving 
the  sky  and  alighting  upon  the  tail-feathers  of  peacocks. 

I  wish  all  who  read  these  stories  would  look  at  the  stars  this  very 
evening  with  the  poetic  feeling  of  the  children  of  long  ago. 

Turn  back  to  the  April  rain  myths  and  you  will  see  the  six  doves 
which  I  told  you  would  come  back  to  us  in  the  star  myths.  The 
rainy  sisters  were  said  to  have  seven  dear  little  sisters,  who,  because 
they  were  so  kind  and  good,  .were  set  in  the  sky  as  stars,  which 
soni3times  looked  like  white  doves.  But  we  can  see  only  six  of 


STAR   MYTHS.  30 

these  stars,  because  one  of  them  was  so  sorry  for  the  sufferings  of  men 
that  she  turned  her  face  away  —  and  some  believed  she  even  went  away 
from  the  sky  forever. 

There  are  a  great  many  stories  of  men  who  were  changed  into  stars  and 
given  a  home  in  the  sky,  and  one  pretty  one  tells  how  a  man  went  to  bathe 
in  a  sacred  river,  and  as  soon  as  his  body  touched  the  river  it  was  changed 
into  a  swan  and  taken  up  to  Heaven,  to  be  placed  with  other  beautiful 
creatures  among  the  stars.  There  are  beautiful  stories  about  all  the  bril- 
liant stars  which  you  can  pick  out  in  the  Milky  Way.  If  no  one  can  tell 
them  to  you,  you  can  make  some  for  yourself,  for  you  have  all  that  is  needed 
for  making  a  good  story  if  you  feel  the  love  which  shines  through  the  sun, 
moon  and  stars,  and  keeps  our  hearts  full  of  joy,  even  in  the  darkest  night. 

The  poet  Tennyson  wrote  a  verse  which  you  will  like  to  learn  : — 

"  Many  a  night  I  saw  the  Pleiades  rising  through  the  mellow  shade 
Glitter  like  a  swarm  of  fireflies  tangled  in  a  silver  braid." 

Another  poet  tells  a  story  of  a  Star  which  rebuked  a  glow-worm  for 
daring  to  show  its  little  taper  in  the  grass  when  the  great  lights  were  shin- 
ing in  the  sky.  While  the  Star  was  talking,  a  great  storm  arose,  the 
hills  shook,  the  rivers  ran  backward  and  anew  sky,  more  beautiful  than 
the  old,  suddenly  appeared.  And  every  star  that  spangled  the  new  sky 
had  been,  but  a  moment  before,  a  brave  little  glow-worm  of  the  earth. 


THE   LITTLE   GIRL   AND   THE  STARS. 

THE  story  in  this  picture  is  of  a  little  girl  who  is  looking  at  the  stars 
with  her  mother  and  seeing  two  large  and  bright  ones  exclaims : 

'  *  See  the  father  and  mother  stars  !  ' 

Then  the  mother  asks  her  to  look  at  the  little  stars  that  are  also  shin- 
ing so  brightly,  telling  her  that  their  light  is  perhaps  less  than  that  of  the 
large  stars,  but  that  every  light  is  needed  up  there,  and  helps  us  to  see 
down  here. 

People  have  loved  the  stars  so  much  that  they  have  not  only  thought 
with  the  little  girl  that  the  stars  loved  each  other  as  we  do,  but  that  the 
stars  of  the  sky  might  have  little  brothers  and  sisters  among  the  flowers  of 
the  earth.  See  the  starry  flowers  in  the  picture,  and  when  you  go  to  walk 
and  cannot  see  the  stars  overhead,  look  for  them  in  the  grass  at  your  feet. 
There  is  a  flower  called  Star  of  the  Earth,  and  one  cannot  look  at  the  asters 
this  month  without  thinking  of  the  blue  sky  and  the  silvery  stars. 

Even  the  ocean  has  its  star-fish,  and  in  winter  the  snow  flakes  form  in 
star  shapes,  as  if  Nature  herself  loved  this  form. 

What  makes  the  stars  shine  ?     Do  you  remember  the  rainbow  bridge  ? 

The  little  ray  of  light  comes  all  the  way  from  the  farthest  star  to  tell 
us  the  same  story  of  a  love  that  lives  among  the  stars  as  well  as  among  the 
clouds.  As  the  bridge  found  its  rest  in  our  hearts,  so  the  star  finds  a  light 
in  our  thoughts,  and  we  are  happy  as  the  mother  and  child  in  the  picture, 
who  if  they  were  to  turn  and  look  in  each  other's  eyes,  would  see  a 
light  there  which  almost  reveals  what  we  can  never  quite  see  with  our 
eyes  —  the  love  that  shines  when  the  sun,  moon  and  stars  are  no  longer 
with  us. 

There  is  more  poetry  about  the  stars  than  even  your  papa  would  like  to 
learn.  But  a  few  lines  of  one  of  the  very  oldest  poets  you  should  know  : 

'•  Where  wast  thou  when  I  laid  the  foundations  of  the  earth  ?  When  the  morning  stars 
sang  together  and  all  the  sons  of  God  shouted  for  joy  ? 

Canst  thou  bind  the  sweet  influence  of  Pleiades,  or  loose  the  bands  of  Orion  ?  " 


SEE  THK  FATHER  AND  MOTHER  STARS. 


FOR  out  of  the  old  fields  as  men  saithe 

Cometh  al  this  new  come  fro  yere  to  yere 

And  out  of  old  bookes,  in  good  faithe 
Cometh  all  this  new  science  that  men  lere. 

CHAUCER. 


From  the  old  books  we  will  learn  some  of  the  har- 
vest myths  which  people  have  believed.     Most  beautiful 
is  that  of  Ceres  who  cared  for  all  the  grain,  not  for  her 
own  use,  but  for  the  sake  of  the  earth  people. 

Children  and  poets  of  the  Old  World  watched  the  com- 
ing and  going  of  the  seasons,  and  told  each  other  pretty 
stories  about  the  fruits  and  grains  of  autumn.     When  sum- 
mer with  its  flowers  gave  place  to  the  season  which  brings 
the  ripened  grapes  and  grain,  these  happy  story-tellers  said 
that  a  beautiful  maiden  who  played  with  the  flowers  had 
gone  away  to  some  other  country,  taking  with  her  the  deli- 
cate spring  violets  and  nodding  anemones. 
The  corn    and   golden  wheat 
growing   in   their 


HARVEST  MYTHS.  43 

places  were  the  gift  of  the  graceful  maiden's  mother,  the  stately  Ceres 
who  had  come  to  look  in  all  the  fields  for  her  lost  child.  Many  children 
forgot  that  these  thoughts  were  only  poetic  fancies  woven  into  lovely 
stories,  and  grew  into  believing  them  quite  true,  and  after  a  time  their 
pictures  and  statues  and  the  very  flowers  themselves  were  thought  sacred. 

Some  said  the  flower  maiden  had  fallen  asleep  in  another  world,  and  so 
could  not  hear  her  mother  call,  and  they  brought  poppy  wreaths  to  hang 
upon  the  lovely  carved  images  of  the  lost  child.  Of  Ceres,  her  mother, 
they  said :  Bright-haired  Aurora,  when  she  came  forth  in  the  morning, 
and  Hesperus  when  he  led  out  the  stars  in  the  evening,  found  her  still 
searching  for  her  daughter. 

One  pretty  story  says  Ceres  once  sat  down  upon  a  stone  to  rest  and 
weep,  but  a  little  girl  seeing  her  look  so  sad,  very  softly  whispered: 
"  Mother  !  "  and  with  that  magic  word  Ceres  arose  and  followed  the  child 
to  her  house,  where  she  found  a  little  boy  lying  very  ill. 

You  will  know  almost  without  being  told,  that  Ceres  cured  the  sick 
child.  When  he  was  older  Ceres  came  again,  took  him  in  her  golden 
chariot  and  taught  him  things  which  he  afterward  taught  men  about  the 
care  of  grass  and  grain. 

It  is  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  that  these  myth-makers  held  one 
precious  truth  in  all  their  wandering  fancies.  You  will  find  it  in  their 
stories  of  the  sun,  moon  and  stars,  whether  told  by  Greek  or  Hindu,  and 
we  sometimes  find  it  even  now  in  the  heart  of  a  little  child  who  never 
heard  one  of  these  stories  : 

Love  never  sat  down  to  cry  over  its  own  troubles,  or  went  seeking  its 
own  joy  forgetting  the  needs  of  others.  So  Ceres,  the  goddess  of  the  har- 
vest, gave  the  golden  corn  and  waving  wheat  to  men  as  she  passed  across 
the  earth  in  search  of  Summer,  her  darling  flower-child. 

Some  tribes  of  Indians  still  believe  that  corn,  beans  and  squashes  have 
lives  which  remain  in  the  forms  of  beautiful  maidens  who  attend  the  yearly 
growth  of  these  things. 

If  you  can  see  a  corn-field  to-day,  your  mamma  can  find  a  story  to  tell 
you  about  the  blessing  of  the  corn-fields  which  Longfellow  has  so  beauti- 
fully told  in  his  poem  of  Hiawatha. 


TICK   TACK. 

IN  this  picture  we  see  a  clock  and  a  baby.  The  baby's  mother  is 
teaching  it  to  swing  its  arm  to  and  fro  like  a  clock  pendulum.  The  clock 
tells  the  baby  a  great  many  things  with  its  tick  tack.  In  the  morning  it 
says  :  "  Time  to  get  up,  time  to  get  up,  time  to  get  up  ;  "  then  it  says, 
"  time  for  your  bath,  time  for  your  bath,  time  for  your  bath  ;  "  at  noon 
it  says,  "  time  for  dinner,  time  for  dinner,  time  for  dinner."  When  the 
day  is  fair  it  says  :  "  Time  for  a  walk,  time  for  a  walk,  time  for  a  walk." 
See  the  baby's  crib  :  when  the  birds  go  to  their  rest  the  clock  still  talks  ; 
hear  it;  "  time  for  the  baby  to  go  to  bed,  time  for  the  baby  to  go  to  bed, 
time  for  the  baby  to  go  to  bed. ' ' 

The  baby  loves  to  watch  the  clock  pendulum  and  swing  its  arms  in 
time  with  it.  There  is  a  pretty  song  which  you  can  learn  and  picture 
with  your  hands  and  arms. 

"  See  the  neat  little  clock,  in  the  corner  it  stands 
And  points  out  the  hours  with  its  two  pretty  hands; 
The  one  shows  the  minute  and  the  other  the  hour 
As  often  we  see  in  the  high  church  tower. 

The  pendulum  swings  inside  the  long  case 
And  sends  its  two  hands  round  its  neat  little  face, 
It  never  should  go  too  slow  nor  too  quick, 
But  swing  to  and  fro  with  a  tick,  tick,  tick. 

So  must  I,  like  the  clock,  my  face  happy  and  bright, 
My  hands  quick  in  motion  must  always  do  right ; 
My  tongue  must  be  guarded  to  speak  what  is  true ! 
Wherever  I  go  and  whatever  I  do." 

Frobel,  who  gave  us  a  number  of  tick-tack  songs  and  games,  wanted 
even  the  little  children  to  obey  the  rule  of  the  clock.  We  are  happy  if  we 
do  things  the  minute  we  are  told  to  do  them ;  and  if  we  are  in  our  places 
in  kindergarten  just  at  the  right  hour,  that  hour  is  pleasanter  for  us  and 
for  others.  We  spoil  a  song  if  we  sing  too  slow  or  too  fast.  The  very 
sun,  moon  and  stars  keep  up  the  harmony  of  the  skies  by  taking  their 
places  at  the  right  hour. 


Il.UJY   I.OVKS   TO   WATCH   THE   CLOCK. 


HAVE  you  seen  a  maple- 
tree  with  leaves  as  red  as 
fire?  Have  you  looked  at 
the  glowing  fingers  of  the 
sumach  this  month  ?  Perhaps  you  have  had  a 
fire  in  the  grate,  and  have  watched  the  glow 
of  the  coals  or  the  gleam  of  little  red  tongues 
of  flame  that  go  whirling  up  the  chimney. 

When  men  first  saw  fire,  and  before  they  had 
learned  to  kindle  or  keep  it,  what  do  you  sup- 
pose they  thought  about  it  ? 

And  can  you  think  what  fire  they  must 
have  seen  first? 

It  was  the  quick,  lurid  flash  of  the 
lightning.  You  have  perhaps  seen  it 
dart  down  as  from  the  heavens  and 
touch  a  forest  tree,  setting  it  ablaze  in 
an  instant. 


FIRE   MYTHS.  47 

To  these  Old  World  children  it  was  easily  explained  by  some  poet,  who, 
if  in  the  world  now,  would  like  his  thought  better  than  anything  \ve  could 
teach  him  about  electricity.  He  said  :  "It  is  a  bird  with  flaming  crest 
and  glowing  wings  ;  it  flew  from  the  heavenly  ash-tree  and  alighted  upon 
one  of  our  trees,  and  the  glory  of  its  presence  has  burned  the  earth  tree  to 
ashes."  These  Old  World  children  did  not  like  the  thought  of  a  beautiful 
earth  tree  becoming  nothing  but  ashes,  so  what  story  do  you  suppose  they 
devised  for  their  own  comfort? 

Out  of  the  ashes  they  said  another  bird  arose,  and  all  unseen  by  them, 
flew  back  to  its  heavenly  home.  From  this  pretty  story  there  grew  many 
others  about  the  strange  bird  called  a  Phoenix.  One  fire  bird  was  not 
enough,  however,  to  satisfy  these  story-making  and  story-loving  people. 

Soon,  any  bird  that  flew  swiftly,  or  had  upon  its  wings  or  breast  the 
color  of  fire,  was  said  to  be  a  lightning  bird,  and  the  eagle,  king  of  birds^ 
the  woodpecker  with  his  blazing  crest  and  the  robin  with  its  red  breast, 
all  became  sacred  as  bringers  of  fire.  They  soon  learned  that  the  sun 
also  held  fire,  and  when  they  at  last  learned  how  to  rub  two  sticks  of  wood 
together  until  fire  burst  from  one  of  them,  it  is  no  wonder  they  loved  the 
man  who  was  thought  to  have  done  it  first.  These  Old  World  people 
would  not  be  half  so  dear  to  us  now  had  not  their  young  world  hearts  been 
overflowing  with  love  and  deepest  reverence  for  everything  they  saw  in 
sky  or  tree.  They  were  grateful  for  the  warmth  of  the  fire  and  all  the 
ways  it  served  their  needs,  but  they  could  not  take  it  and  use  it  as  if  they 
had  made  it.  It  was  no  common  gift,  and  from  worshiping  it  and  those 
who  brought  it,  grew  many  beautiful  religious  customs.  The  sacred 
fire  was  never  permitted  to  go  out  upon  Hebrew  altars. 

A  pretty  legend  tells  of  an  infant  prophet  being  thrown  into  the  fire 
by  a  wicked  ruler,  whose  evil  purpose  was  defeated,  for  the  bed  of  flame 
was  instantly  changed  to  one  of  roses  upon  which  the  baby  slept  unhurt 
before  the  very  eyes  of  the  man  who  learned  that  no  harm  could  really 
befall  the  innocent.  Every  one  of  these  beautiful  things,  sunshine  and 
light  of  stars  ;  rainbow  and  singing  breeze ;  flower  and  shower  finds  its 
kindred  spirit  in  our  own  joyous  hearts  that  give  back  love  for  love  to 
Him  who  rules  them  all. 


THE   PIGEON   HOUSE. 

WHAT  do  you  see  in  this  picture  ?  I  see  four  mammas  and  more  babies 
than  you  can  count. 

Two  that  walk  are  coming  down  the  road  to  tell  their  mamma  what 
they  have  seen,  and  two  that  fly  are  telling  where  they  have  been  and 
what  they  have  seen. 

The  children  coming  from  the  field  saw  a  man  ploughing,  and  he 
showed  them  a  ground  bird's  nest  in  the  grass,  which  was  so  pretty  he 
would  not  disturb  it,  though  the  little  birds  flew  away  weeks  ago.  They 
also  saw  many  little  creatures  with  wings  which  were  not  birds,  and  they 
are  talking  with  each  other  about  bees  and  butterflies,  and  the  questions 
they  will  ask  their  mamma  about  the  difference  between  bats  and  birds, 
and  birds  and  moths,  for  they  think  everything  that  flies  ought  to  be 
called  a  bird. 

What  do  you  suppose  is  in  the  basket  ? 

They  have  been  to  the  field,  you  remember.  And  you  remember  the 
man  was  ploughing  this  field.  What  do  you  think  grew  there  this 
summer  ? 

Wheat.  And  when  the  workmen  cut  and  drew  the  wheat  away,  they 
dropped  many  and  many  a  beautiful  straw  with  its  head  of  good  wheat 
upon  it,  and  these  dear  children  have  filled  their  basket  with  that  golden 
grain  so  they  will  have  the  pleasure  of  feeding  it  to  the  pigeons. 

The  mother  sitting  near  the  pigeon  house  is  teaching  her  little  girl  to 
play  Frobel's  game  of  the  Pigeon  House. 

You  can  fold  your  hands  like  these  in  the  picture  and  then  open  one 
of  them  letting  your  fingers  flutter  about  like  pigeons. 

The  pigeons  must  be  very  happy  this  month,  the  world  is  so  beautiful. 
Think  what  they  see  in  their  flight.  Golden  fruit,  purple  grapes,  glow- 
ing leaves  of  red  and  gold,  streams  and  bridges,  corn-fields  and  rain- 
clouds.  Perhaps  pigeons'  eyes  can  see  the  lovely  woman  you  read  about 
last  month,  who  is  still  looking  among  the  poppies  for  her  little  girl. 


FOUR  MAMMAS  AND  THEIR  BABIES. 


*  ' 


ANY  child  who  will  look  at  the  clouds 
from  day  to  day  will  be  able  to 
see  pictures  in  them,  quite  as  beautiful 
as  those  which  the  people  saw  when  the 
world  was  young. 

Men  and  women  who  lived  in  the 
country  saw  hills  and  meadows  among 
the  clouds,  where  sheep  and  cattle 
roamed. 

When  men  and  women  lived  in  cities 
they  fancied  they  saw  cities  among  the 
clouds ;  they  pictured  radiant  proces- 
sions, cloud-capped  towers,  and  soon  they 
began  to  believe  in  a  palace  whose  walls 
and  chambers  were  gleaming  in  sun  or 
moonlight. 

No  sooner  did  one  see  a  palace  than 
another  thought  it  had  golden  doors  and 
silver  steps.  Then,  as  the  clouds  floated 
aside,  there  seemed  to  be  beautiful 
youths  guarding  the  palace,  with  flaming 
torches  in  their  hands. 

Where  one  poetic  child  could  see  a 
youth  with  a  torch,  another  could  see  a 
maiden  with  a  golden  distaff,  and  the 
threads  she  was  spinning  were  woven 


CLOUD  MYTHS.  51 

into  filmy  clouds  ;  and  as  the  clouds  spread  and  seemed  to  sail  across 
the  sky,  of  course  some  one  cried : 

"  A  ship  !  a  ship  !  " 

What  beautiful  stories  may  be  woven  about  a  cloud  ship !  It 
might  belong  to  the  owner  of  the  palace  ;  it  might  be  Freya's  bark  ;  it 
might  be  the  divine  Argo  which  could  talk  with  the  people  and  do  the 
will  of  the  gods  without  pilot  or  helmsman,  rudder  or  rigging. 

Freya's  magic  bark,  they  said,  could  be  folded  like  a  veil  and  car- 
ried in  the  hand,  or  it  could  become  a  powerful  vessel  with  iron  prow 
which  no  enemy  could  injure. 

Sometimes  the  clouds  grew  black,  and  what  seemed  a  glowing 
torch  became  like  a  raven  ;  and  what  had  looked  like  a  snowy  sail 
seemed  changed  to  a  dragon's  wing. 

Watch  the  clouds  for  yourselves  and  you  too  will  see  pictures. 

Perhaps  you  will  see  the  Shining  One,  the  Moon  Maid,  the  Whis- 
pering ^Eolus,  the  Rainy  Sisters  or  Freya's  Tresses,  for  they  are  one 
and  all  but  light  and  sound,  shower  and  flower,  dressed  in  the  filmy 
garment  of  child-like  thoughts  about  them ;  and  you  may  think  these 
thoughts  over  again  as  you  look  into  cloud-land,  letting  your  imagina- 
tion sail  away  with  the  Argos,  flame  in  the  torch,  climb  the  silver  stairs 
of  the  palace,  or  draw  bright  threads  from  the  golden  distaff. 


THE    FAMILY    FESTIVAL. 

is  the  month  of  the  family  gathering. 
-L  The  children  visit  grandpapa  and  grandmamma  or  uncles,  and 
hear  delightful  stories  of  the  childhood  of  papa,  mamma,  aunts  and 
uncles.  Grandmamma  tells  what  she  did  when  she  was  a  little  girl, 
and  grandpapa  tells  the  children  how  their  papa  behaved  when  he  put 
on  his  first  trousers. 

The  baby  is  filled  with  joy,  because  on  this  holiday  mamma's  first 
doll  is  taken  from  its  little  box  in  the  drawer  and  the  children  are 
allowed  to  play  with  it,  while  stories  are  told  of  its  dress  which  was 
made  of  a  piece  of  grandmamma's  wedding  gown,  and  its  slippers  of 
grandpapa's  gloves.  This  doll  has  laid  tucked  away  in  one  of  mamma's 
wedding  slippers. 

The  children  feel  that  the  holiday  would  not  be  quite  perfect  with- 
out these  stories  of  the  children  who  used  to  play  very  much  as  they 
play  now. 

One  of  the  children  puts  on  grandmamma's  glasses  and  another 
leans  on  grandpapa's  cane,  while  auntie  shows  them  a  kindergarten 
finger-game : 

"  This  is  the  grandpapa ! 
This  is  the  grandmamma ! 
This  is  the  father  dear ! 
This  is  the  mother  dear ! 
This  is  the  little  child ! 
See  all  the  family  here?  " 

Or,  touching  thumb  and  fingers,  in  the  same  order,  she  sings  : 

"  This  is  the  mother  good  and  dear; 
This  is  the  father  with  hearty  cheer; 
This  is  the  brother  stout  and  tall; 
This  is  the  sister  that  plays  with  her  doll ; 
And  this  is  the  little  one,  pet  of  all !  " 

Of  course  everyone  kisses  the  little  finger  which  represents  the 
baby,  "pet  of  all." 


TMI-:  FIXGKR  FAMILY. 


wit 


was  once 

lieved  to  be  a  great  ash 
tree  :  Beneath  one  of  its  roots 
lay  a  whole  country  peopled  by 
giants,  even  the  animals  being  of 
such  gigantic  size  that  a  mosquito 
would  be  larger  than  one  of  our 
ostriches  and  a  squirrel  would  be 
about  the  size  of  a  very  large 
elephant.  Of  course  the  tree 
had  to  be  large  and  strong  enough 
to  hold  such  birds  and  squirrels, 
and  the  children  were  never  lit- 
tle even  when  babies.  Such  was 
the  belief  of  Norsemen.  In  this 
country  of  the  giants  lived  the 
Father  of  Winter.  His  breath 
was  so  icy  that  everything  froze 
before  him  as  he  walked  ;  he  wore 
a  great  cloak  made  of  eagle's 
feathers,  and  if  he  but  moved 
an  arm  cold  winds  rushed  out 
and  shook  the  great  ash-tree  in 


•-  - 


WINTER   MYTHS.  55 

every  limb.  As  the  cold  increased  in  the  winter  of  the  north  country, 
the  people  told  each  other  wilder  and  wilder  stories,  and  one  long, 
dark  night  some  merry  boy  or  girl  made  up  a  story  of  a  wolf  in  the 
giants'  country  that  wTas  so  large  he  had  swallowed  the  sun  !  Another 
said  somebody  would  surely  catch  the  wolf  and  take  the  sun  away 
from  him. 

"  Who  could  run  fast  enough  to  catch  that  wolf?  " 

"  I,"  said  Yidas,  "  I  have  magic  boots." 

"  Where  did  you  get  magic  boots  ?  " 

"  They  were  made  of  all  the  bits  of  leather  pared  and  cut  from  the 
heels  and  toes  of  all  the  shoes  ever  made,"  answered  Vidas,  and  away 
he  strode  after  the  giant  Fenris  wolf.  And  he  caught  him,  too,  and 
made  him  open  his  mouth  and  give  up  the  sun,  and  all  the  children 
shouted  for  joy  when  they  saw  Vidas  hang  the  sun  up  in  the  sky  again. 

Other  children  told  stories  about  the  snow,  saying  a  most  beautiful 
woman  with  eyes  like  sapphires  and  footsteps  soft  and  silent  came  in 
the  night  and  wrapped  the  earth  in  a  white  mantle  as  a  mother  wraps 
her  baby  in  its  blanket  of  wool.  There  are  children  to-day  who  shout 
joyfully,  "  Frau  Hulda  has  been  here ! "  when  they  look  out  in  the 
morning  and  find  the  earth  covered  with  snow  since  they  went  up  to 
bed.  Last  winter  a  little  boy  called  to  me  in  tones  of  delight :  "  See  ! 
see  !  the  twinkle  stars  are  falling  !  "  He  had  caught  some  star-shaped 
snow  crystals  on  his  mitten. 

The  story  of  the  Wolf  and  the  Sun  is  one  of  the  oldest  stories 
known  and  is  a  hundred  times  prettier  than  a  hundred  others  that 
have  grown  out  of  it.  In  telling  you  these  many  old,  old  stories  of  sun, 
moon  and  stars,  I  have  taken  the  greatest  care  to  give  you  the  best 
ever  told ;  and  as  you  read  and  re-read  them  you  will  see  that  whether 
they  grew  up  among  Greeks  or  Hindus,  Norse  or  Arabs,  every  one 
was  stamped  with  a  most  beautiful,  heaven-made  feeling  which  finds 
an  answering  thought  in  the  heart  of  every  child.  They  are  part 
of  the  world's  old  story,  out  of  which  all  good  stories  grow,  the  story 
of  love  which  makes  gods  and  giants,  fairies  and  children,  men  and 
women  forget  themselves  in  doing  for  others. 


THE     WINDOW. 

"TTTHEN  you  first  wake  in  the  morning,  after  kissing  papa  and 
W  mamma  which  way  do  you  look?  Nearly  always  toward  the 
window,  I  am  sure.  Sometimes  in  winter  the  window  shows  you  many 
beautiful  pictures  on  it,  as  if  it  could  not  wait  for  you  to  come  and 
look  through  it  to  see  what  is  outside. 

The  frost  makes  many  a  fine  drawing  of  mountains  and  castles^ 
trees,  flowers  and  ferns  upon  the  glass. 

In  the  illustration  you  see  how  you  can  make  windows  with  your 
hands,  and  you  will  have  great  pleasure  in  peeping  through  the  sash 
and  telling  stories  of  what  you  see.  Sometimes  our  eyes  are  called  the 
windows  of  our  souls,  and  I  am  sure  when  you  look  in  mamma's  eyes 
you  will  see  a  light  more  beautiful  than  that  of  the  sun  from  the  win- 
dow of  your  room.  And  now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  something  very 
wonderful  about  what  may  be  seen  in  these  eye-windows. 

If  a  little  boy  with  frowning  brow  and  unhappy  mouth  looks  deep 
into  mamma's  loving  eyes  what  do  you  think  he  will  see  ?  Just  a 
frowning,  unhappy  little  boy,  no  matter  how  much  inamma  may  wish 
him  to  see  a  happy  one.  It  can  be  no  other  way. 

Smile  and  look  into  tl\e  eye-window  and  you  see  a  smiling  face. 

It  is  very  much  that  way  with  every  kind  of  window.  The  sun 
may  shine  into  the  clearest  window  that  ever  lighted  a  pretty  room., 
but  if  you  look  through  that  window  with  your  feelings  all  clouded 
and  cross  you  cannot  see  the  sunlight  as  the  beautiful  thing  it  is  to- 
the  child  who  is  in  a  pleasant  temper. 

So  we  really  make  our  windows  what  we  will.  We  may  have  them 
daintily  traced  with  fairy-like  pictures  of  beautiful  scenery,  like  our 
house  windows  in  a  frosty  winter  morning,  or  we  may  see  in  them  the 
glowing  colors  of  the  most  lovely  church  window,  or  they  may  be  so- 
clear  and  unspotted  that  there  seems  nothing  between  our  souls  and 
the  ever-near  Soul  of  all  Love.  If  you  keep  your  soul  like  that,  you 
will  know  the  meaning  of  the  Avindows  and  all  you  see  through  them, 
from  stars  in  the  sky  to  snowflakes  on  the  sill. 


THE  WINDOW. 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


MAY  07  1990 

HMI26  1990 


Form  L9-100m-9,'52(A3105)444 


V71m 


3   1158  00717  7370 


Vlf .) 


